It was late in the forenoon when they saw a clump of green willows, and ten minutes later came to a roadside spring and watering-trough.  Hapgood threw an aching leg over the horn of his saddle and slipped stiffly to the ground.  Conniston dismounted after him, holding the two horses’ reins as they thrust their dry muzzles deep into the clear water.  Hapgood, applying his mouth to the pipe from which the water ran into the trough, drank long and thirstily, and then, dragging his feet heavily, went to the clump of willows and dropped to the ground in their shade.

“We’ve done thirty miles, anyway,” said Conniston, cheerily, when he, too, had drunk.  “Twenty miles farther to the hills, and—­”

Hapgood, his head between his hands, groaned.

“Twenty miles farther and I’ll be dead.  I couldn’t eat any of that infernal mess last night, and I couldn’t eat beefsteak and mashed potatoes this morning.  And I’ve got pains through me now in a dozen places.  I wish—­”

He broke off suddenly.  There was little use to tell what he wished:  a cool club-room on Broadway; a deep, soft leather chair; a waiter to bring him delicate dishes and cool drinks.

For an hour they sat in the shade resting.  Then Conniston got to his feet and threw his reins over his horse’s head.

“Come on, Roger,” he said, quietly, the unusual gentleness of his tone showing the pity he felt.  “We can’t stay here all day.”

Hapgood rose wordlessly and walked stiffly to his horse.  He cursed it roundly when it jerked back from him, and for five minutes he strove to mount.  The animal, high strung and restless, was frightened, first at his lunging gait, then at his loud, angry voice, and jerked away from him each time that he tried to get his foot into the stirrup.  But at last, with the aid of Conniston, who rode his own horse close to the other, preventing its turning, Hapgood climbed into the saddle.  And again in silence they pushed on toward the hills.

It took them five hours to do the twenty miles lying between the watering-trough and the edge of the hills.  A large part of the last ten miles Hapgood did on foot, leading his astonished horse.  And often he stopped to rest, squatting or lying full length on the ground.  It was nearly five o’clock in the afternoon when at last they came to the second spring by the roadside.  And here Hapgood sank down wearily, muttering colorlessly that he could not and would not go a step farther.  And they were still forty miles to the nearest cabin and bed.

Conniston unsaddled the two horses, watered them, and staked them out to crop the short, dry grass.  And then he stood by the spring, smoking and frowning at the barren brown hills.  They had had nothing to eat since early morning; they had not thought to bring any lunch with them.  And now if they spent the night here it would be close upon noon on the next day before they could hope to find food.  He looked covertly at his friend, only to see him sprawled on the ground, his head laid across his arm.